


Tim Sköld, Marquis de Fuck Knows What

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blindfolds, Flogging, Foot Fetish, Handcuffs, I truly feel sorry for Ginger Fish, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Experimentation, Tim Skold does his best, Tim Skold negotiates his kinks, Wartenberg Wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: "Fuck, I really don't know, but if you want anything from me, I'll do it, okay? Just please. I'll try, alright? I'll fucking try to follow the fucking rules. Just please. Please. Can you do it with me?"or the one in which an old married couple decides to spice up their sex life, but not quitep.s.they are not a couple
Relationships: Ginger Fish/Tim Sköld
Kudos: 4





	Tim Sköld, Marquis de Fuck Knows What

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> So my spiritual brother wrote a story which I read two times in a row once I discovered it (you can check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615018) and which inspired me to write a response to him.
> 
> And since it's me, it's almost 9k long. Well. What can I do? I like words.
> 
> Anyway. I think the tags are pretty self-explanatory. If not, then I hope the unexpected thing you find there will be a pleasant little surprise. :)
> 
> English is not my native language, not even the words belong to me, yes, it is absolutely possible to be that passionate about parsley.
> 
> Enjoy!

***

Every so often small accidents resolve lifelong inner conflicts and bring understanding.

  
It's in the middle of a casual conversation that Tim learns that Ginger is a... Well, that he's part of _the community_. It's a bit of a wonder it didn't happen earlier, it's not the first or even the second year of Tim's participation in _the band_ and casual conversations in circles that he travels tend to flow in this direction all the time, but also they, him and Ginger, don't have casual conversations much, at least the lengthy ones, they aren't close in any sense of the word, and also, it's Ginger. 

Everybody has a reputation, and Tim usually starts small revolutions to prove that those are just stereotypes and you people just don't know how to interact with living beings without putting them into categories, but then, if he is honest with himself, he succumbs to the prevalent ideas too.

So Ginger being Ginger makes the fact it didn't happen earlier more of a small wonder, though not entirely, because Ginger tells him he's been a part of the community in question for _twelve years_ , when their casual cues and casual responses to each other somehow lead to that, and it's a long time, so... 

So Tim is a little surprised.

It's just he brushes his surprise away, along with Ginger's amusing shyness around the subject, because the subject, oh, _the subject_ has been bothering him since he was twelve.

Or whenever it was that he found that magazine.

It caused him... well, obviously arousal, it was that type of a magazine and he was twelve, but also annoyance and then interest and then again annoyance, at the subject and at himself, and he scratched that itch throughout his adolescence, sure that if he thinks about it just one more time he'll crack it, he'll figure it all out.

He didn't. Obviously.

"Hey," he says and waits until Ginger looks at him and he has his full attention. "Uhm... Do you think you could do that with me? I wanna... I wanna try."

He will turn forty in December, but he still doesn't really know what it is he wants to try. 

Not all that... _imitation jewelry_ , because he has tried that, despite his own disinclination, and it was either boring or annoying and there have been partners who tried what he had done on him, while giggling, as if they're twelve and it's a school play he's forced to be a part of and he was not amused.

Needless to say.

But Ginger's serious and he is Ginger and Tim feels safe enough to make this offer, though he is not sure exactly what it is he needs the fucking safety for.

Tim's not sure what it is he wants to try.

Apparently, it is a problem.

"Tim, it's..." Ginger says, smiling shyly, almost apologetically. "I can't... It's not how it is done. It's... unethical? I don't mean to offend you, it's just... The rules are there for a reason. Safe words and everything. It is important."

Tim sighs, convincing himself not to roll his eyes. He needs a cigarette.

He flicks his lighter and takes a drag, as Ginger talks, as he himself struggles to listen.

"I'm not..." Ginger says, lifting his hand, making a move to touch his that Tim struggles to keep lying on the table. "Look, I'm not refusing, I can... I can do it with you, if you're interested. Just... Not like this? You have to understand what it is you want from this, and sorry, but it doesn't look like you fully do. Maybe I'm wrong, but... I think you should read something first?"

He needs a drink.

"I'm rereading Of Human Bondage at the moment, does it count?"

Ginger laughs softly, shaking his head at him.

"Tim, you're..."

He's breaking the rules that are there for a reason that he doesn't understand. _That_ he knows.

He huffs out a laugh too, shrugging, blowing out the smoke.

"I uh..." Ginger starts, shifting.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry to... to change the subject, I just. That book. I've been meaning to read it too and..."

Tim laughs out loud. Maybe they shouldn't have talked about chains and collars. Maybe they should've started a local club of a different sort.

"No problem. What do you wanna know?"

"Like..." Ginger looks down for a second. "Just is it good? What's it about?"

"Hm," Tim hums. "Life? It's kind of a semi-autobiography, so... And yeah, it's good. I mean, there is one thing that always kills me, but apart from that..."

"What thing?"

"Oh, the guy, he's... Oh, wait, spoiler alert?" 

Ginger makes a vague gesture.

"It's okay. I'm not sure it applies here."

"Alright. So the guy is like, well, he thinks he's poor, because his inheritance is not as massive as the other folks' who are like... his class? But he pays for art school and rent in Paris with that money for years and he has a sort of... donno, a lover? That he also gives money to, and I'm always like... Confused? About what exactly are you complaining?" 

Ginger smiles at his gesticulation.

"And sure, times were different, but... Kinda funny right now. Or maybe I'm just traumatized by working for fucking Volvo or something."

"Oh," Ginger exhales. "I see. Thanks."

"Well, if that answered your question..."

There is a pause, which Tim fills by finishing his cigarette.

"Anyway," he says and sighs. "Look, I get what you mean, it's just..." 

It's just he wonders if Ginger is the person he should be telling this, when discussions with other people who he was close with didn't help.

"I've read about it," he says, deciding to continue. Kind of bad taste to opt out now. "And I get the idea behind the rules, but it's just... It's like, you know, in one article it's all about the rules and safe words and honorifics and whatever, and in another there is not a word about that, it's all about the unique experience nobody outside of the community can ever understand and it's intense and open, honest, emotional and like, the final truth, but I just don't get how one leads to another, I mean, it doesn't necessarily do that, and also from what I've read it's kinda implied you _can't_ have one without the other and I'm like _why_? Why exactly is that? Whenever I touch this subject, it's like I am at a weird restaurant that says that yeah, we satisfy all of our clients' wishes, but no, you cannot have your Chateaubriand without the parsley, you have to have the parsley too. That's a shitty restaurant, don't you think?"

Ginger laughs, and Tim feels something akin to relief rolling down his spine.

He did keep talking, of course, but it still felt like making someone look at how you pick at a laceration on your arm or something, maybe a thigh, messing about and bothering the skin until the ichor you're fascinated with starts oozing out of the wound and that someone whom you're subjecting to observing this didn't really ask for that.

But Ginger laughs and doesn't ask him to please wipe off his liquids, so...

"Don't know about Chateaubriands... Like, is it..."

"It's a steak," Tim explains. "And they serve it with... Shit, like with butter that fuck knows why is mixed with parsley and I fucking hate it, like, why should it always be parsley when there're so many other herbs around?" He laughs at his own exasperation. "Sorry. I guess I'm in the mood for tantrums. Anyway, that is a shitty restaurant."

Ginger smiles, touching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, seems like it..." he says, then puts both his hands on the table, tilting towards him slightly. "Look, I think I got it. What you meant. But you know, the rules aren't random? It's like... historical? People started doing those sorts of things long before there were rules, but then they came up with them, gradually. To make the whole thing better. It's like that."

Tim sighs loudly, stretches, rubs at his face.

"Yeah, I know. But like... I just feel like I'll laugh my ass off if I do it like it is _supposed to be done_ and that... That doesn't seem to be that unique experience the articles keep hinting at."

Ginger moves his shoulders, making an uncertain sound.

Tim sighs again.

"Yeah," he says, wiping his mouth, then taps his fingers on the cigarette package. "Look, I know you probably fucking hate me already and all, but. I really wanna try it and you seem like a..." He cuts himself short, a thought crossing his mind. "I mean, if you don't wanna do it, then like maybe you know somebody who would? Since you're hanging out with that type of folks. I'd be grateful. Like, I'm just asking you because I know you and you're... I don't even know if you like me or not, and yeah, I am aware that it's not necessary when it comes---"

"I do," Ginger says, interrupting him. 

Tim jumps a little, startled, and blinks at him, not really following.

"I do," Ginger says again. "I mean, I like you."

"Oh," Tim breathes out. 

Ginger's cheeks don't exactly look pale now, and Tim starts thinking about that and about whose place is closer to the cafe they are at and all that, but stops quickly, reminding himself that he's commited to the path of awkwardness and that hook ups triggered by small verbal accidents are not something he spends hours thinking about, it's what he does, without any issues and it's old news.

If he is to talk at Ginger like a twelve year old who found a peculiar magazine and now is overly curious, then he's going to do it properly and till the very end.

"Oh," he breathes out again, and it is awkward enough.

The fact that he's never even considered if he himself likes Ginger also helps with that greatly.

"Cool," he says. "Fuck." He huffs out a laugh. "So... You can get me?" That helps too. Jesus. "I mean... I don't mean it like an... exchange? Just, you know. We can do it. Or if you want an exchange, then... It's okay too." He shifts in his chair, looks around, fuck knows at what, and gestures with his hands, fuck knows what again. "Fuck, I would even like pay you, you know? But you're in the same damn band, so... I really don't know what favor to offer here. I'll buy you a Chateaubriand, okay? Two of them. With and without the parsley. I'll cook one for you. And humiliate myself. And you'll tell everybody and I'll be the laughing stock for the next six months. Fuck, I really don't know, but if you want anything from me, I'll do it, okay? Just please. I'll try, alright? I'll fucking try to follow the fucking rules. Just please. Please. Can you do it with me? I feel like I'm mental because of this shit. Thirty years of pondering and confusion. Please. Okay?"

He runs out of breath and words, and Ginger is still there, sitting at the table with him, and Tim briefly thinks that this wonder is a much larger one. 

Then he thinks that at least he was true to the chosen style, but Ginger smiles and nods, and it's...

"Okay," Ginger says. "Okay. Yeah."

It's like discovering that your oozing ichor is something they wouldn't mind mixing their butter with to make the sauce.

Them.

The people whose faces you were smearing in it.

"Oh," Tim sighs out. "Okay." He looks Ginger up and down, which feels a bit like looking at the doctor who informs you that you haven't died in that terrible car crash, and yes, all of your brain functions and all of your fingers have survived. "Okay." It feels great. "Thanks. Fuck, thank you."

  
***

  
Every so often small accidents allow you the full view of your bandmate's kinky drawer quite a few sex shops you've been to fade in comparison with.

To which you say...

  
"That's a lot of cocks," Tim says, standing side by side with Ginger, studying the assorted contents in the box.

It's not that there isn't anything like that in his house, there most likely is, for some reason people tend to forget their sex toys at his place, so that later he fishes out fucking chains and collars from under the wardrobe and wrinkles his nose, remembering the giggling, or, in case it's something useful that he finds, tries to put it somewhere where it won't get lost.

It's not that he is a twelve year old virgin, because he isn't.

It's just he drives to Ginger's and they sit around for twenty awkward minutes, having casual conversations that aren't exactly casual, and then Ginger asks him if he feels comfortable enough to proceed and Tim blinks dumbly at him and says _uhhhh, yeah_ , and then they talk about it just like the articles that he has read suggest they do. 

It's just Ginger says that it is their first _session_ \- Tim manages to keep his face relaxed - and that he doesn't know him well as the... _the subject_ of the scene they are discussing, says that he'll need verbal feedback from him and that if he feels that something's wrong, he'll need to tell him without hesitation, and Tim nods, those statements being reasonable enough. It's just those are not the only ones.

It's just then Ginger asks him if he's had any experience, and Tim goes philosophical and silent, because Tim's done things that aren't... well, something they give you advice on in sex ed books for twelve year olds, Tim's done things that could've been a topic of Manson's songs and there were many... _incidents_ , the one with a double-headed dildo, the one with a watermelon and the consequences, the one with his guns and a fox tail, the one with the punctured wall of the toilet stall and the second one as well and also there was that girl he used to hang out with who'd always keep arguing with her parrot while he fucked her, because the tiny bastard was rather chatty, that girl who'd always refuse to put the stupid bird in another room for the time being. 

It's just those are the sober ones. Those are just ones from the top of his head.

It's just he summarizes all of his eventful life as _uhhhh, no_ , and apparently, that is not the correct answer.

It's just he wants to grab Ginger by his shoulders and shake him, shouting _are you fucking sure you want my oozing ichor, it's fucking ichor and it's oozing and that is not what we're here for._

It's just he doesn't, instead he picks an incident and details it for Ginger, along with all his deliberations about what it was exactly that he's done, and Ginger says that it sounds more like a fetish thing and Tim wonders about how it is he sees him now and why aren't there PR-managers for private interactions, because clearly, he is in need of one. It's just then he goes off on another tangent or maybe veers back on course, he isn't sure, he says that yes, he's tried some shit that seemed similar, but it was never in such a setting and there was stupid giggling and it certainly wasn't a unique experience that elevated him or something, it was more about certain people having a peculiar image of him thanks to the PR-managers of the band they are both in, and offering him to smack their butts and call them names or trying that on him, again, while giggling, is simply how they flirt, though why would they flirt with him when they are already fucking is beyond him, so no, it is really no.

It's just after this long ass discussion Ginger comes to a conclusion that yes, it probably was something else, just playfulness and maybe this sort of thing being fashionable and it seems it's not what Tim wants now and no, it most definitely isn't.

It's just then Ginger says he should choose a safe word and it's also something Tim is very disinclined to do. He blurts out _sjuksköterska_ when there is nothing else for him to do and Ginger's cornered him, and Ginger blinks, Tim grins, Ginger says _that's not a very... easy one_ and Tim says _well I can say it, so what's the problem._ Then Ginger sighs and looks at him as if he is his doctor and he's barely survived that terrible car crash, but instead of lying there in his bed like the medical professional has ordered him to do he's trying to escape through the window, despite it being the sixth floor. Then Tim says _it just means nurse_. Tim says _okay, I'll just say nurse_ , and Ginger says _okay_ as well.

It's just then Ginger says they should discuss the stages of the scene and what it is exactly they are going to do and what it is they want to achieve at the end, and it becomes difficult again, or maybe it is Tim himself who's being difficult and Ginger should get an additional fucking salary for still listening to him leaking out his ichor. Tim says that he doesn't know shit or what it is he wants and it's Ginger who's the expert in the field and that the only thing he knows is that he wouldn't mind having an orgasm as a result of all of this, confirms that yes, sexual interactions are fucking welcome, why wouldn't they be, but if Ginger decides otherwise isn't it his right, he is the local dominatrix here, so can't they just go and do it the way Ginger wants it and Ginger says _not really_.

It's just then Tim stands up, raking his fingers through his hair and pacing around the room, Tim says he needs a smoke, asks if they can please, please go on the balcony and smoke and they do, and as they do Ginger says that it's okay if Tim doesn't want to do it anymore and Tim says he does, actually whining while saying that, Tim says he's sorry, says that he doesn't mean to be such an ass, it's just all of this annoys the crap out of him, Tim says he's sorry and puts his heavy head on Ginger's shoulder and Ginger says that it's okay and that they'll do it and pats him, his nape and then his neck, and Tim says _thank you_ and plants a kiss on his.

It's just Ginger shivers when he does and Tim's cock twitches, but this is not what they are here for.

It's just Tim keeps his head on Ginger's shoulder, breathing in the smell of his skin, until a thought crosses his mind, and then he lifts it and says _hey, should I like... call you something_ and Ginger says _just Ginger_ and Tim seriously wants to kiss him one more time and then again and also the floor he walks on for this and he would, but it still doesn't seem quite like what Ginger reluctantly agreed to do with him.

It's just when they go back into the interrogation room Ginger explains that he still needs to know what it is Tim finds acceptable and what is a taboo, and Tim opens his mouth as if he's at the doctor's office getting an oral examination and says nothing for six months and then _uhhhh, like..._ and trails off, because yes, maybe he is like those _some people_ that Ginger mentions who are okay with almost anything, but mind being spat on or being branded or ageplay, maybe having Ginger's legal name tattooed on his forehead would be too much and he doesn't exactly get off on wearing diapers - spit is absolutely fine, though - but the thing is, he can change his mind, if Ginger is into that, that being diapers, not the branding, and also he already feels subdued even though they haven't even started.

"Fuck," Tim says, utterly frustrated. "Look, can we like... Can you tell me what it is you usually do? So that I at least have some... framework."

"Yeah, of course," Ginger says and not only tells him, but also shows him, and this is how Tim is introduced to the framework of his kinky drawer.

Not that it helps in any fucking way.

Tim compliments the number of phallic objects in the box, but even that only contributes to the nonsense of the situation and Tim's fucked up desires he knows not a thing about, and also he simply stands there, staring at Ginger's _ammo_ , and Ginger's waiting for him to... Fuck knows what.

To follow those fucking rules he promised he'd be following?

"Uhm," Ginger says, pulling him out of his trance. "Do you... Like, do you need me to explain what some things are?"

Tim rubs at the back of his neck and shrugs.

"No, not really. I might not have been formally introduced to all of these guys, but I know _of_ them. And if not, I think I can figure it out alright. Though a few of them kinda look like overly fancy soldering irons."

Ginger laughs softly.

"Okay," he says. "So..."

Tim sighs.

"God, I don't know." He turns away from the drawer and looks at Ginger, hoping he'll bring him psychological relief again. "Can't you like just... try all of them on me and I'll tell you which is fine and which is not?"

Ginger glances at the drawer, smiles.

"No, not really," he says, looking at him as if it is psychiatric help that he needs, not kinky scenes with bandmates. "It's... What you're offering is the very opposite. I uh... I really need to know in advance."

"Oh, fuck," Tim says and hugs himself by the shoulders.

He also wants to hug Ginger for his unbelievable patience with him, but he feels that it just might tip the balance and there will be a disaster on their PR-managers' hands.

"I seriously don't know. Fuck. Can you... Fuck. Can you like tell me what you like to use? Or like... What you want to try on me? If you do want anything, that is. I doubt I'm the most desirable piece of ass at the moment. But if you still do... Just tell me what you'd like to use and I'll tell you if I want that, okay?"

Apparently, Ginger rates his ass differently.

"Sure," he says, nodding, still smiling at him like he hasn't been turning his brains into ichor. "I do. Okay."

That's when things progress a bit.

That's also when Tim thinks that Ginger's place is definitely closer to where they are at right now, but that is not the point, is it.

Ginger takes out a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, some kind of flogger, a tiny spiky wheel on a stick and doesn't take out the fifth item that he touches.

"Okay," Tim says and starts pointing at the items in order of appearance. "Boring, but I'll live. Boring and fucking annoying, but okay. Seems fine, unless you plan to beat me dead. Seems weird, but why not. And what's with that? Why haven't you taken it out?"

He nods at the fancy soldering iron Ginger left abandoned.

"Oh," Ginger breathes out. Tim wonders if it could be that his self-expression in regards to Ginger's possessions has indeed changed his plans. "It's uh... It's for electric play. And I just thought it might be... Well, not for the first time, you know."

"Oh," Tim concurs.

He kind of wants to tell Ginger to disregard that thought and use the thing, because Ginger's words already send a current down his spine and maybe he's secretly been into being electrocuted all along, even though there was nothing like it in that damn magazine, but it seems wrong to be so pushy and inapproriate and demanding shit is not what this is supposed to be about and so on, the oozing ichor of lifelong pondering, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"Okay," he says. "Alright. So..." He glances at the items Ginger apparently wants to use on him. "Can we... _proceed_? Have I agreed enough?"

Ginger laughs, and it sounds like Tim hasn't.

"I uh..." he starts.

"Look, I'll fucking _actually_ serve you for a year, okay?" Tim says, interrupting him. "Like I'll wash your boots for you and make your bunk. Just please let's do it. This is all okay. You'll put the handcuffs on my nostrils and blindfold my balls and I'll feel trance-like euphoria and we'll be done with it. I really don't mind all of this. Okay? Please, just let's do it. Please."

And then, which is probably a miracle or maybe Ginger simply likes him begging, but whatever, then Ginger smiles, Ginger says _okay_ and nods.

  
"Are you okay?" Ginger asks him some time later.

  
And he is.

They go into the bedroom and Ginger brings all the stuff they need in there and he takes off his clothes and Ginger looks at him, standing there naked in the middle of the room, and there is that bit when Tim wonders if he should say something, like, for example, that Ginger can ogle him all he wants, he'll turn around for him and so on, it actually feels really nice to be looked at like that, and then keeps wondering, thinking that Ginger probably knows all of that, because isn't it the whole point of the fucking scenes, _just Ginger_ being able to do whatever it is he wants to do, thinking that Ginger doesn't need his offers, that he'll simply tell him what to do if he wants it from him, so probably he doesn't and that's it.

So Tim shakes his complicated head and offers Ginger both his wrists instead, shrugging, waiting for Ginger to pick up the handcuffs.

And then... 

Then he hops on the bed and Ginger puts the blindfold over his eyes and hooks his cuffed hands to something above his head and there are sounds, there is clinking, shuffling, creaking, there are all sorts of sounds and Ginger touches him, brushes his fingers against his skin while putting pillows under his nape and so on and he...

Apparently, he shivers.

  
"Are you okay?" he hears Ginger's voice, his fingers once again on his shoulder. "If you're cold..."

"No," he replies and licks his lips. "I mean, I'm fine. Just maybe nervous. And..."

"Yeah?"

Ginger's fingers are on his shoulder, moving slowly.

"You've... Your hands feel really nice."

He hears a sound, a soft laughter, maybe, and wonders if he's even supposed to surrender that type of information.

"Okay," he hears next. "Just tell me if anything is wrong."

Tim hums his unwavering agreement.

  
Some minutes later Ginger's hands that feel really nice is almost the only thing he's pondering.

  
He touches him, Tim can't see how, but it feels like being... studied, maybe, not examined, definitely not, it's gentle and it's pleasant and after their negotiations it is not what he expected Ginger to do to him.

He shivers under Ginger's touch from time to time, his touch is very light, but also, also Tim wonders, though not for long, if Ginger's fingers touching him leave Ginger's legal name all over his naked body by some sort of magic, which at the moment he does not exactly mind.

He licks his fingers, when Ginger puts them on his lips, then sucks them, when Ginger carefully pushes them between his lips, then relaxes, when Ginger touches the insides of his mouth, then lets him, when Ginger kind of fucks his mouth with them. 

He would've done more than simply let him, but is that his place - that he doesn't know.

He knows that it makes him hard and that he wants Ginger to kind of fuck his mouth with his fingers all the time, from now on and till forever, but then Ginger stops.

Tim bites down his disconcerted moan.

There is a pause in touching, and he briefly thinks that maybe he should've voiced that moan or that maybe he should ask Ginger to keep doing it, maybe he should like beg and call him _just Ginger_ , and then the pause in touching ends.

His next - and of a highly pleased variety - moan Tim does not bite down.

"Here?" Ginger asks him, pulling at his nipple ring again. "Do you like it?"

He does, and usually, usually, when he's not cuffed or blindfolded, he simply puts his partner's hand on it and tells them that he does, and it has always been nothing but pleasant, but now it feels pleasant in a slightly different way.

"Yeah," he answers, feeling Ginger's fingers rubbing at his nipple, and there is that current finding his spine once more.

"A lot," he adds, trying to test his freshly formed theory.

And that current really knows its way.

"Okay," Ginger says. "That's good," He says and keeps testing some theories of his.

Then there is another pause, one that almost makes Tim start with his pondering again, but it ends quickly, and something sharp and pointy rolls over Tim's left nipple.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes out, having been introduced to what he thinks is the tiny spiky wheel. "Shit. Sorry. God. Am I like... _allowed_ to talk?"

He hears Ginger's soft laugh.

"Of course."

Ginger's fingers are on his nipple, moving slowly.

"Oh," he says, shivering under the touch that feels really, really nice. "Okay. Then like... _Fuck_?" He laughs a bit, the current building up at the base of his skull, waiting to be released. He licks his lips. "I mean... Feels awesome. What you've done. Now and when you touched my mouth. Like... Fuck, I just wanted you never to stop, you know? Like wanted to ask you not to stop. So... _Fuck_."

He inhales, realizing that he's short of breath.

"Okay," Ginger says, tracing some patterns on his skin. "I'm glad you've told me." 

Tim smiles, hoping he's smiling at him and Ginger sees his face and that his smile looks... well, normal? Looks like he intends it to.

He feels the sharp and pointy thing touching his nipple and anticipation fills him up with tingling, even though he's not fucking sure what it is he's waiting to live through.

"And uh..." Ginger adds, the sharp and pointy thing moving slowly. "I wasn't planning on stopping."

That...

That plugs in the wires permanently and makes the current very much direct and constant.

That and also what Ginger does to him next.

And what Ginger does is he keeps familiarizing him with... well, it must be the tiny spiky wheel, because it's definitely not a flogger.

And yeah, he had already known _of_ it before Ginger took it out of his kinky drawer and he said why not, he could imagine the sensations just alright, it's just he didn't expect the spikes to graze each and every one erogenous zone of his that Ginger's managed to locate - through some science he applied and Tim didn't understand so it seems like magic - and also create while he's at his research, he certainly didn't expect the spikes to feel just like Ginger's fingers, because the fucking tiny wheel is not them, but it is how it now feels.

It feels great.

And Ginger drags it over his recently discovered or freshly formed responsive body parts, over both his nipples, his arms, sides of the torso, stomach, thighs and Tim doesn't bite his moans. Well, at first he doesn't, because didn't Ginger say that hearing his self-expression is what he wants from him, but then he does, because Ginger didn't really say that, did he, he simply said that it was good Tim'd told him and moaning isn't telling, is it, so is he allowed that or not. 

And then he kind of decides that fuck it, because this is too good, and moans openly and honestly and very much emotionally, and nobody stops him, it's only when he wriggles, jerking up his hips, that Ginger tells him _shhh_ , pushing him down on the mattress rather gently, not even holding him, more like supporting, even though Tim is not sure what it is he's trying to help him to get through, he isn't like, distressed, he's feeling great and also, also he doesn't really understand what Ginger means when he tells him _shhh_ , he knows that it sounds pleasant, because, apparently, Ginger has had a very nice voice all along, it's just Tim can never shut up himself and thus has never heard it, he knows that Ginger's _shhh_ triggers the current that's now rolling not only over his spine, but also over all of his responsive body parts and all of them are responsive to fucking electricity, he knows all of that, but wonders what it is that Ginger means and wants from him when he tells him _shhh_ , is it that he should try and cut his shivering because that's what _just Ginger_ ordered him to do or is it that shivering's alright and Tim should not be worried that he shivers - which he isn't - or is it something else Tim's not equipped to understand, he doesn't know this and also, also he didn't really expect the tiny spiky wheel to end up grazing his erect cock.

The thought of such a possibility just didn't cross his mind.

And if it had done, he wouldn't have expected it to feel like that. Like... Like Ginger is _jerking_ him _off_ with it.

Which is exactly why he's wriggling.

It's simply way too great.

It is that great that he once again seriously wants to ask Ginger never to stop doing this to him, just like jerk him off with the tiny spiky wheel every day of his waking - or sleeping - life and wonders if he should tell him that he wants that, but only moans, because what does he mean by saying _shhh_ , does he want Tim to shut the fuck up and lie still, and also, also because he hopes that Ginger won't stop on his own, that jerking him off with the tiny spiky wheel is his oldest dream or his newest hobby, he seriously hopes that it is true.

Then it turns out that even if that is true, poking sharp and pointy things into Tim's cock is not the only Ginger's dream or hobby, he's also quite interested in Tim's other responsive body parts and the tiny spiky wheel rolls up his body, along with that current Tim starts thinking is like Ginger's aura, the spikes grazing his thighs and stomach, sides of his torso, nipples, arms, his throat and then there is a pause, a pause that Ginger fills by putting his fingers that feel like there should be a new word for them on Tim's parted and more than willing lips.

That's when the current zaps Tim's complicated brain.

"Fuck," Tim says, when Ginger's fingers land on his lips, the tiny spiky wheel still brushing against his vibrating throat. " _Fuck._ Fuck, Ginger."

That's when all sorts of thoughts do cross Tim's mind and some of them start questioning the other ones' existence and their right to be set free, but then Ginger's fingers slip into his mouth, while Ginger himself asks him _what_ , and Tim decides that fuck it, he'll grow grey and old and die still pondering and still confused, because in his book those were conflicting actions, but fuck it, fuck it, he's almost sure he'll become trance-like euphoric if Ginger does what he has in mind to him and for that Tim needs to speak.

"Fuck," he says, slurring his swearing, interrupting his self-expression with licking at Ginger's fingertips. "Can you... Fuck. Please. My tongue."

With that he simply sticks his tongue out as far as he can, swinging his mouth open and hoping that the gesture would be telling in itself and that it looks like he intends it to, inspiring in Ginger something corresponding and not the desire to leave him on the bed with his fucking stuck out tongue just like he's left that fancy soldering iron in the box.

With that and with a pause that Tim fills with anxious waiting the tiny spiky wheel that feels just like Ginger's amazing fingers grazes his tongue.

With that Tim moans out loud and shakes with his whole body, pushing into it, because, apparently, his tongue can also be jerked off with sharp and pointy things.

"Shhh," Ginger tells him and Tim tries to be more _shhh_ , whatever that might mean, Tim tries to be the most _shhh_ as he moans and shakes, pushing his tongue into the tiny spiky wheel, the wheel that feels simply unbelievable, that feels so unbelievable he'll try to be anything Ginger wants him to be for this, anything at all.

When the incident that he wants to last forever nevertheless comes to an end, like everything in life does, Tim keeps shaking, Tim thinks, when he already can, that maybe he's done something wrong and now he'll be punished and being upset with him is not what he wants Ginger to experience and that pause in touching he's experiencing is fucking killing him, much more than English literature, it's really fucking kill---

"Can you hold your legs like this for me?" Ginger asks, bringing Tim back to life with his extremely pleasant voice, brushing his extremely pleasant fingers over his thighs as he lifts them, and of course Tim can.

Tim mutters something, moaning, because he not only can, he'll hold his legs like that for Ginger until the sun grows cold and he is just a skeleton, despite continuosly wondering why Ginger asks for that, which is a rather small thing, when he can have it all.

Apparently, Ginger has some knowledge of this state of things.

"Fuck," Tim says, when Ginger's tongue touches his hole, and this is their very first meeting and it's been like a fraction of a second, but Tim can bet that Ginger's tongue is also extremely pleasant and Tim's not wrong. "Fuck. _Fuck_ , Ginger."

It's not that this hasn't ever happened to him, on the contrary, this happens regularly, it's one of the things _he_ asks for rather often, it is his dearest dream and hobby, it's just right now it feels kind of like Ginger's dreams and hobbies match Tim's perfectly, it feels perfect, to be... _learned_ like that, _known_ , it feels simply perfect and Tim has never asked _what are you doing_ after he asked for this, because he was the one who asked for this and he knows, but now, now he moans and he almost says _what are you doing, please don't stop._

And Ginger doesn't stop and Tim keeps moaning.

When that too ends, when Ginger's hands are no longer on his thighs, gentle, pleasant, _shhh_ , when Ginger's tongue abandons Tim's unwilling to be abandoned hole, Tim feels he's reduced to moaning and shaking, yet still with a touch of pondering and confusion, as usual. 

It's just now they are utterly deformed.

The sounds that he hears through his own vocal, heavy breathing are also mostly mysterious to him, but in a few seconds he figures out that the thing Ginger was taking off the nightstand is simply lube, because it's Ginger's fingers, which are lubed, that greet his hole.

" _Fuck_ ," he welcomes them, and they don't mind his rudeness.

Ginger's lubed fingers slip in his hole easily and feel _intrigued_ by what they find there, feel perfect, unlike Tim's legs that are going numb, Tim's legs feel numb, but also, also kind of perfect, there is definitely that current zapping Tim's brain again when Tim reminds himself that it is Ginger who he is risking gangrene here for, it is Ginger who asked him to hold his legs like this, it is Ginger who wants him in this weird pose, Tim thinks of that with his brain cells that have survived the car crash and Tim moans, shaking with the current zapping him and Ginger's fingers inside of him and then...

"Move," Ginger says.

Apparently, Ginger reads his mind.

He holds his gentle and supportive, his amazing fingers still while Tim wriggles, kind of fucking himself on them just like they previously were kind of fucking his willing mouth, kind of, because the pose is awkward and this is not how Tim usually does that, when he does, but as he does it now he wonders if he's actually been into _kind of fucking_ all along, because right now it feels flawless and their desires, dreams and hobbies most definitely correspond.

"Stop," Ginger says, when all Tim thinks about is how he doesn't want to ever, ever stop, despite not knowing what the fuck it is he's doing. "Stop."

"Fuck," Tim says and stops, but keeps moaning and shaking. " _Fuck_."

"Shhh," Ginger says, fingers first still inside him, then moving, moving _out_ , kind of patting his pulsing hole, as if it's it who's almost crying under the stupid blindfold and not Tim himself.

Tim tries being as _shhh_ as possible, while there is another pause in touching, while he hears no sounds apart from his own breath, wondering what's happening and why there is a pause, because he can't see a thing with this stupid wet blindfold over his fucking eyes, which is another thing he ponders, like, if he should tell Ginger that it is wet and that he's almost crying here, is it that _something wrong_ he is supposed to give him feedback on, it might be, though for Tim it oddly feels more like something right and also he's sincerely trying to be as _shhh_ as possible and if he understands what _shhh_ means it doesn't really include his rambling and if he opens his mouth - to speak, that is, because it is already open, only for him to moan, but if he does, the fact that there seem to be tears in his eyes is not the only thing he's going to say, he'll probably even skip it, he'll simply say _fuck, what are you doing, fuck, Ginger, why aren't you doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing to me._

Then there is Ginger's open mouth around his toes.

And it's...

It's something that has happened to him, but, like, the other way around and with giggling, more of a playful flirty joke than actually getting off on his open mouth around that person's toes, which was there, and it is something that also was in that goddamn magazine he should've burnt instead of reading, it was there, but, again, the other way around, and the other way around is the way it was described in those articles he shouldn't have familiarized himself with instead of English literature, and it isn't something that he himself gets off on, Ginger's open mouth on his hole was that and this is something else, though similar, it's Ginger's lips that feel just like his fingers and it is slow, gentle and _inquisitive_ , it's pleasant, though Tim's not sure what that _it_ is, is it Ginger's open mouth around his toes itself or is it Tim letting it be there, which it seems he does, letting it be there for Ginger, which it seems it is, what doesn't seem, what Tim's sure of, once he discovers it, is that he holds his breath while Ginger's doing whatever the fuck it is he's doing to him.

He lets it out, moaning, once he discovers he's been holding it, and feels Ginger's brushing against his soles.

" _Fuck_ ," he says.

When there is no longer Ginger's open mouth around his toes, which doesn't happen instantly, when Tim tenses up, expecting another frankly excruciating pause in touching, the pause does not occur, when there is no longer Ginger's open mouth around his toes there are Ginger's hands on his tense thighs.

"Are you tired?" Ginger asks him.

He shivers, Ginger's fingers moving slowly on his strained muscles.

He licks his lips and tries to become a bit less _shhh_ for the time being.

"No," he says, fucking _lying_ when his strained muscles have already told the truth. 

"Yes," he says, correcting the slip of his lying tongue.

"Yes, but..." he says, attempting to give Ginger the most accurate, the real answer.

"Fuck, Ginger," he says, because saying _no, yes, I don't fucking know, don't ask me anything, just please don't stop_ seems like some sort of a violation and is way too long for him to utter in such a state. " _Fuck._ "

Tim breathes for a few moments, hoping that the emphasis on his swearing means the same to Ginger as it does to him.

"Please," he adds next, worried it does not.

Then he's about to hold his breath, but Ginger brings him psychological relief once more.

"Okay," he says, holding his tense and clearly tired legs. "Okay."

Tim hears a smile in his voice and it is soft and so is his touch, so are his hands he runs over his tense and clearly tired legs, holding them with Tim and warming up his strained muscles, bringing him physical relief as well.

"Okay," he says once more and keeps touching him, not only his thighs, but also his stomach and his cock, all in that extremely pleasant fashion, and that kind of makes Tim _unrelieved_ again.

"Okay," he repeats himself another time and stops touching him altogether, and that kind of makes Tim into a mess of pondering and confusion, but not quite, the moment of nothing being done to him doesn't last.

"Okay," Ginger tells him and then, almost immediately, the flogger lands on his responsive body parts.

Should be the flogger.

Probably is.

It's just it too feels like Ginger's fingers as it lands on Tim's responsive feet, calves, thighs, butt and - _oh_ \- cock.

" _Fuck_ ," Tim says.

He's actually forgotten that the flogger was taken out of the kinky drawer. That there _was_ a drawer. 

That there was anything apart from whatever the fuck it is that Ginger's doing to him.

Tim briefly, very briefly wonders if this can be considered being into pain, if it feels pleasant, but then stops, because it does, it feels extremely pleasant, just like Ginger's fingers did when he was still studying him and not applying what he's learnt, whatever it is that's landing on his feet and calves and thighs and butt and - _oh, fuck_ \- cock feels pleasant and very soon, almost immediately, the only thing Tim thinks is _please don't stop._

With a bit of _please slap my mouth_ added on top.

Or, maybe, with a lot of it.

Apparently, not only Ginger reads his mind, Tim also truly believes that he does. 

So while he feels... well, it's either like he's never felt before or like he now wants to feel all the fucking time, while he feels that, he also tries to project his thought at Ginger so that he does whatever the fuck it is Tim hopes he'd do, and what Tim hopes he'd do, what Tim hopes he'd hear is _please, please slap my everything, but, like, my mouth._

Tim's attempt at telepathy is kind of incoherent.

And so is his moaning that he produces instead of words.

Or maybe it should be renamed as sobbing.

When the flogger made of Ginger's fingers is no longer landing on his responsive body parts, Tim kind of doesn't even know if he is sobbing.

He must be.

But who knows.

He himself knows not a thing.

Though Ginger's fingers - them he knows. And as they start touching him again, as his lubed fingers touch his hole and easily slip in, Tim says hello to them.

" _Fuck_ ," he says.

"Shhh," Ginger tells him, doing whatever the fuck it is he's doing to his insides. "You can move."

 _Can I_ , Tim wonders and wonders again, when he starts moving, fucking himself on Ginger's fingers, his whole body now strained and tense and numb and kind of floaty as he kind of fucks himself without being sure he can do that.

He also wonders if he can come.

Like, if he ever will.

" _Fuck_ ," he says to Ginger, trying to cram his lifelong pondering into one short syllable adorned with panting accentuation that he's not sure even he understands the meaning of already.

"Shhh," Ginger responds, which as well is way too polysemantic and does not resolve a single thing, but apparently, Ginger is not quite as speech impaired as Tim is.

Apparently, they are having conversations inside Tim's mind.

"Shhh," Ginger tells him and then goes on. "Just move. Okay? Want you to come."

Tim's mind feels like an electric fucking chair.

"Fuck," Tim breathes out, moving. If earlier he wondered if he could do that, then now, were he to wonder, he'd wonder if he could stop. 

Tim doesn't wonder.

"Fuck, _Ginger_ ," Tim says instead.

"I know," Ginger says, and, like, okay, it's good that's somebody's aware, but can't he share it with Tim as well and... There would've been an _and_ , but Ginger cuts him short. "It's alright, Tim. Just move. Okay? Want you to come for me."

  
Okay.

  
Apparently, Tim won't escape through the window of the sixth floor if the kind and caring medical professional asks him to chill out in the hospital _for him._

Apparently, if Tim's invited to have a frankly excruciating - but like the antonym - orgasm _for Ginger_ , then he can't do nothing but oblige right on the fucking spot.

Apparently, when Tim comes on Ginger's fingers for him, he can himself become a current, maybe direct or maybe alternating or, which is how he feels, a helplessly pulsating one.

  
Okay.

  
_Okay._

  
***

  
"Okay," Tim says, blinking dumbly, as the stupid blindfold is taken off him. "Hi."

He's still cuffed and Ginger's holding his spinning head.

"Fuck," Tim says. "Hello."

Ginger is looking down at him and Ginger is looking exactly like he feels.

"Fuck," Tim says, searching for means of self-expression. "Like, _fuck_."

Ginger smiles, and Tim laughs, resting his head on Ginger's palm.

"Fuck," he says again, just in case.

"Yeah," Ginger responds.

Tim breathes in and out loudly a few times.

"Are you okay?" Ginger asks.

"Fuck," Tim says. "Yeah. Fuck. Are you? Like... Is this what you do at those clubs of yours?"

Ginger laughs, patting his hair.

"Uhm..." he says. "No? Not really. Like... Maybe the opposite?"

Tim stares at him without blinking.

Tim groans.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ , Ginger. _Ginger_."

Ginger smiles again, shrugging.

"I know," he says. "But I... I really liked it."

Tim laughs out loud, says _fuck_ and tries to wipe his running nose and his whole wet face over his own shoulder, because he's still cuffed.

Then Ginger does it for him.

Then he uncuffs him.

Then he sits there on the bed with him holding his head.

Tim hums.

"Fuck," he says.

Ginger's also patting him, and Ginger's fingers feel like Ginger's fingers.

He licks his lips and swallows hard and just lies there being patted.

"Are you thirsty?" Ginger asks.

Tim opens his eyes.

"Fuck, yeah."

Ginger laughs and helps him drink.

Then Ginger wipes his mouth even though now Tim's uncuffed.

Then Ginger's fingers linger, and thoughts return into Tim's zapped mind.

"Oh," he breathes out under Ginger's touch. "I uh..." He huffs out a chuckle, lifts himself a bit, looking around until he sees what's just came back to him. "That flogger."

"Yeah?" 

Tim looks up at Ginger.

"Can you... When you were slapping me with it. I really wanted you to slap my mouth."

Apparently, without the blindfold Tim can see when Ginger blushes.

Which doesn't stop him from picking up the flogger.

"Close your eyes," he tells him, and Tim puts his hand over his eyes.

"Fuck," he says a second later, removing it.

Apparently, he doesn't know what he wants but what he wants feels exactly like this.

He looks at Ginger, holding his mouth open.

Which, if he understands correctly, should mean _please_.

Whatever _please_ fucking means.

Then Ginger slaps his open mouth with the flogger while Tim looks up at him. 

A few times.

Then Ginger puts his fingers on his lips.

Tim smiles.

“Fuck.”

Ginger laughs.

“Yeah.”

Tim looks at Ginger’s face while Ginger’s fingers touch his lips and does it for quite a while, but when he glances down and then up again and down, which is like the first half of the unspoken sentence, Ginger stops touching him, listening to Tim's unspoken offer.

Tim finishes the sentence.

  
Every so often small accidents resolve life long inner conflicts and bring understanding, they say, but fuck them.

  
Every so often small accidents lead to letting Ginger fuck your more than willing mouth.

Every so often when you say nothing, you still get to swallow a mouthful of Ginger's come.

______________________________________________________________________________________________


End file.
